


Pancakes

by bonaweab



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Almost smut, Baking failures, Breakfast, Bruce being stubborn, Fluff, M/M, Oh, Pain au chocolat, Pancakes, Syrup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 06:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9479747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonaweab/pseuds/bonaweab
Summary: Bruce can't cook, so Joker makes fun of him. Shenanigans ensue.





	

It was a dull Tuesday, and Bruce had decided to spend one of his precious few off days brushing up on his cooking skills, of all things. Well, it would be nice to surprise Joker with a hand-cooked pain au chocolat. So, because he likes seeing his boyfriend smile, Bruce stood before his aggressively expensive countertop, trying to figure out where he went wrong in just thawing out a puff pastry sheet. He'd taken the puff pastry sheet out of the oven after the correct amount of time, but it had this odd gooeyness to it now that made it seem almost inedible. This was the third time the puff pastry sheet came out looking like the victim of a crime against the art of baking, and Bruce was starting to think that maybe he shouldn’t have so stubbornly insisted against help from Alfred. Meanwhile, Joker sat by the kitchen table, not trying very hard to hide the sound of his giggles. Bruce scowled in disgust as he dumped the ruined puff pastry sheet before turning his scowl on his lover. “Well, Joker, I'm sure that you could always make your own pain au chocolat.”

  
Joker snorted, resting his chin on one hand as he stirred his lukewarm cup of coffee with the other. “Please, Brucie, babe,” Joker replied. “Where would the fun be in that? Besides, all that fighting you do isn't good for you. Let out a little more of your softer, goopier side, like that pastry sheet!” Joker snorted before slapping his knee and laughing out loud. Bruce had been completely sure that nobody actually did that anymore, but he'd just been proven wrong.

  
As it was, Joker's usual cheekiness was doing nothing for his souring mood, and Bruce turned back to his baking workspace with a huff. He may be the world's greatest detective, but master chef he most _certainly_ was not. He thought back on the puff pastry sheets and sighed; this was one mystery he had no idea how to solve. So, Bruce did the one thing he knew would work: he tried thawing out a new puff pastry sheet, and he made a point of ignoring Joker's incessant teasing.

  
Once Bruce had laid out the puff pastry sheet, he leaned against the countertop and pulled out his phone, checking his newsfeed absentmindedly. After a while, he noticed that Joker had gone silent, but Bruce forced his attention back to his phone before the urge to look up had overwhelmed him. If he looked up, then Joker would win this—admittedly childish—little argument. Bruce was so focused on his phone, in fact, that it wasn't until Joker tugged on his shirt that he registered the clown's presence right next to him. Nevertheless, Bruce was set in winning this little lovers' spat, even if it was going to kill him.

  
“Brucie?” Joker's voice was soft and plaintive, and Bruce could feel his formerly iron will dissolving, but Bruce desperately clung to what was left of it. Even so, Joker continued calling him various pet names, going from the rather tame “sugar” and “darling” to the far weirder “Daddy Batsy” and “Captain Muffintits.” After that last one, Bruce snorted, then cringed when he realized that he'd just reacted at all, and his reaction was made worse by Joker's rather unsubtle snickering.

  
With the sinking feeling that he just lost some ridiculous and admittedly overblown argument, Bruce tossed his phone onto the countertop and gave the clown his full attention. “Yes, Joker?”

  
Joker immediately went from sniveling and pitiful to his usual loud and bombastic attitude. The clown placed one hand over his heart whilst pulling the most fake sad expression that Bruce had ever borne witness to. “I'm sorry, Brucie,” Joker proclaimed in the most obnoxiously theatrical way imaginable.

  
Bruce frowned playfully. “Joker, I've seen children's plays with more sincerity put into it.” Bruce felt the corners of his mouth tugging upwards, but he forced himself to frown. With all the years he'd spent as Batman, it wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be.

  
Joker pouted, swatting weakly at Bruce's arm as he straightened his purple bathrobe. “Fine, then, Brucie, I shall prove my love by making you pancakes that will knock your socks off! Sans dynamite because you're just that charming.”

  
Bruce rolled his eyes, about to say something just as Joker began shoving him out of the kitchen. “Wha—hey! Joker, what're you--!”

  
Joker snorted, huffing with the effort it was taking to shove a muscle-bound vigilante out of the kitchen. “Come on, sugar, there's no way that I'll let you know the secret to my outrageously delicious foodstuffs. Out, out, an artist needs their workspace! And don't go and worry your pretty little head, I won't do _too_ much damage!” Joker let out a laugh as he proceeded to get Bruce out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

Behind the thin wooden door, Bruce could hear maniacal laughter and the loud, discordant clangs of pots and pans as they were repeatedly slammed against each other.

  
Well. Bruce could only hope that the clown wouldn't burn his house to the ground. The billionaire could feel his paranoia eating away at the linings of his stomach, and upon deciding that an idle mind is the Joker's workshop, Bruce rushed off to take a nice, bitingly cold shower.

 

 

After a blissfully painful shower that lasted a little over fifteen minutes, Bruce moseyed on back to the kitchen, clad in an oversized Star Wars shirt that almost completely covered his boxers.

  
As Bruce approached the kitchen door, he was surprised to hear soft romantic jazz coming from behind the door. The billionaire snorted; he never would have guessed that Joker was a jazz kind of guy. Bruce grabbed the handle of the door and swung it open, only to come across a scene he never thought he'd ever see.

  
Joker had splayed himself across the kitchen island, stark naked except for the freshly cooked pancakes that were placed in strategic and titillating locations. As Bruce had walked in, Joker began drizzling syrup all over his body, humming lightly. The clown winked in Bruce's general direction, and Bruce could feel his brain short-circuiting. “Well, big boy, what're you waiting for?” Joker practically purred, his green curls falling over his eyes.

  
Bruce's mind scrambled to put everything back together, and at a loss for words, Bruce blurted out the first thing that came to his mind: “All that syrup must be making you sticky.” Bruce immediately felt his hand fly up and slap his forehead, and he was feeling more sheepish than ever.

  
Joker was silent for a moment before letting out a sharp bark of laughter. “Syrup isn't the only thing that's gonna make me sticky, Batsy dearest.” The clown pointed one finger at Bruce before gesturing for the vigilante to come over.

  
Bruce felt the heat rising to his face, and he strode over to his boyfriend, having all but forgotten about anything other than finding out just how delicious those pancakes were.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh the hilarity. Bruce, the author of this fic can't cook, either.


End file.
